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FIC: The Soiled Dove - 4/6 [L/R, S/J] - R

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  • victoria p.
    Happy New Year! Since it s been a while, here s all the info: Title: The Soiled Dove Author: Victoria P. Summary: In answer to the Elseworlds challenge, Logan,
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 1, 2001
      Happy New Year!

      Since it's been a while, here's all the info:

      Title: The Soiled Dove
      Author: Victoria P.
      Summary: In answer to the Elseworlds challenge, Logan, Marie et al. in 1950s
      New York. Think noir.
      Disclaimer: The characters herein belong to Marvel and/or Fox. This piece of
      fan written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
      Rating: R - language, sex, violence, character death
      Archive: Sure, just let me know. I like to see where my stuff lives.
      Feedback: Please? I'll give you a shiny nickel... Well, not really, but it
      helps me write, so let me know what you think.
      Notes: There is actually a bar called the Soiled Dove in Denver. It is not a
      strip joint and bears no resemblance to the bar in this story.

      I owe more than I could ever repay to my betas, Dot, Jen, Meg and Pete, and
      a huge debt to James Ellroy, Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, and Andrew

      The Soiled Dove
      Part 4


      Once they were in the car, Scott tried to conceal his anger, but it was
      useless. Jean always seemed to know what he was thinking, even when no one
      else did.

      “He apologized, Scott, that’s all,” she said, her tone conciliating.

      His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. “The bastard
      shouldn’t have even spoken to you. And you certainly shouldn’t have

      “What was I supposed to do, Scott? Walk away? You know he’d follow. That
      would look really great, to have him stalking me across the squadroom, in
      front of everyone. They all know what happened. It’s no secret.”

      He’d thought it could get any worse, but it just had. No one -- except
      himself and Logan -- knew what had actually happened, and it wasn’t his
      proudest moment. When Logan had fallen down on the job after Jean broke off
      their affair, Scott could have covered for him, but he didn’t. He could have
      saved Logan’s job, but he didn’t. And that still haunted him.

      “I suppose you’re right,” he said tightly.

      “I apologized to him as well,” she continued softly. He jerked his head
      around to look at her. “Watch the road, Scott!”

      “Sorry,” he muttered. “Why the hell did you apologize to him?”

      “Because I could have said no, and I didn’t.” Her voice was small in the
      spaciousness of the car. It was the first time they’d ever discussed it so
      openly. “I’m sorry, Scott. I truly am. I had everything I ever wanted and
      was too stupid to realize it. I thought I wanted something dangerous,
      something wild, but I didn’t. I only ever wanted you, Scott, and I didn’t
      know how to stop it once it started. It was --"

      “I don’t want to hear what it was like, Jean.” It was a growl worthy of
      Logan himself.

      “It was a mistake, a terrible mistake,” she was crying now, openly crying
      instead of hiding in the bathroom, or burying her face in her pillow, as she
      ’d done two years ago. “I’m so, so sorry.”

      He pulled the car to the curb and took her in his arms. “I’m sorry, too.
      Sorry that I couldn’t be what you needed me to be. Sorry I ignored you and
      made you turn to Logan. But that’s over now. It’s done,” he was vehement,
      “it’s done and we got through it. It’s only made us stronger.”

      “Do you really believe that?” she whispered.

      “I have to,” he said. “Please tell me you do, too.” He was pleading now,
      begging the way he hadn’t when he’d found out. When he’d finally confronted
      her, he’d been as cold as ice, but the fire was there now -- the fire she’d
      always known was in him, but that had somehow been banked over the years --
      and she responded to it eagerly.

      “I do, Scott. I love you so.” She kissed him passionately. “And, I have some
      news for you.” She looked down at her abdomen almost shyly, took his hand
      and put it there, though there were no outward signs yet. His eyes followed
      her movements.

      “Jean?” he breathed, voice full of wonder. “Are you--"

      “We’re going to have a baby, Scott.” Her tone was as awed as his. He turned
      the car off and kissed her again, this time reverently. She turned toward
      him and they slid down on the seat, wrapped around each other. He was slow
      and careful and she responded in a way he hadn't seen in a long time, with
      soft gasps and sweet moans. They celebrated their good news on the front
      seat of the car, parked on Sixth Avenue at 56th Street

      They were late to the dinner, but neither of them cared very much.


      After Drake was finished questioning Marie, Logan bundled her into a cab and
      they went back to his apartment.

      "Do you want to go out to eat?" he asked, when they arrived. She looked down
      at herself, still in his pajamas, and shook her head. "No, I guess not. I
      have some steaks in the icebox. Will that do?" She nodded.

      While he cooked, she showered. He gave Ororo a call at home, told her to
      watch out for strangers and stay away from the office tomorrow. He had a
      feeling things were going to get ugly quick, especially if Summers went
      after Lehnsherr tonight.

      They ate in almost complete silence. He'd never been much of a talker, and
      she was exhausted. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. At least, for Logan it
      wasn't. He was busy trying to imprint her on his memory -- her scent, the
      way she looked, the way she moved, and her voice on the rare occasions when
      she spoke. He was also trying to control his reaction to her. It couldn't be
      right -- a man his age lusting after a nineteen-year-old girl. He was old
      enough to be her father, and God knows, that freak had done enough damage.

      After they ate, he washed the dishes and she dried. Still, they didn't talk
      much, but every accidental brush of her hand against his was fraught with
      tension. He found himself trembling from her slightest touch.

      Finally, she said, "I'm tired, Logan."

      He'd asked her to drop the "mister." It didn't sound right to him. He didn't
      remember much of his life before the war -- it was as if he'd been born the
      day he woke up somewhere in the Canadian Rockies. He'd lived like an animal
      for a while, before being found by Mac Hudson. Then he'd gone to work for
      the Canadian government, as if he'd been born to the job. He was a killer.
      He'd been an assassin, which is how he'd wound up working with Summers --
      the man was a crack shot and cool as ice under pressure. They were the
      perfect team to carry out covert operations during the war. They'd
      complemented each other, and that had carried over into their policework.
      Until Jean came between them. He'd been unwilling to stay away from her, and
      unable to handle losing her, and it had cost him his best friend and his

      But he had apologized to Jean, and with that he had let go of his past. He
      had the strangest feeling that Marie was his future.

      "Okay, darlin'," he said, "you can have the bed. I'll be out on the couch if
      you need me."

      She smiled tiredly and shuffled off to his room. For a long time he just sat
      in the living room, his beer growing warm on the coffee table, thinking
      through what to do about Marie, LeBeau, Xavier and Lehnsherr. Finally he
      turned out the lights and fell asleep.


      She woke rapidly, ready to run, and then she realized where she was.
      Strangely, she felt safe with Logan, though he looked like a ruffian and was
      obviously a little shady. When she'd asked him about his business, he'd
      said, "I'm the best at what I do, Marie, but what I do isn't very nice." And
      she hadn't pushed him for details.

      She could hear him groaning in the living room and wondered if he was being
      attacked. Grabbing the baseball bat standing in the corner, she tiptoed out
      to the living room.

      He wasn't under attack. At least, not by anything she could see. He was
      asleep, obviously in the throes of a nightmare. He thrashed and moaned on
      the couch, and he'd thrown off the sheet, so that his chest was bared. She
      put down the bat and moved toward him, softly calling his name. She reached
      out a gloved hand and stroked his cheek. He came awake in a flash and had a
      hand around her throat before she could react.

      He blinked, clearing the sleep from his eyes, and released her immediately.
      "I'm sorry, Marie. I'm so sorry," he said, sinking back down on the couch,
      rubbing his forehead.

      She sat next to him, one hand rubbing her neck where he’d grabbed her, the
      other tentatively on his shoulder.

      “It’s okay, Logan,” she said, patting him awkwardly, her voice a little

      “It’s not okay, Marie. Dammit--" he closed his eyes, “sorry. I could have
      hurt you badly, killed you even.”

      “But you didn’t.” Her hand moved to his back, more assured now, gently
      rubbing the spot between his shoulder blades. The silk of her gloves felt
      good, but he wanted to feel her skin. He took her other hand and pulled
      lightly at the glove.

      “Why do you wear these?”

      It was her turn to close her eyes. She stopped touching him, pulling her
      hands into her lap and twisting them together. She licked her lips and he
      said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s all right.” He
      didn’t need to be a genius to figure out it had something to do with her

      “No,” she said. “I, I want to tell you. You’re the only one who knows any of
      this.” He put one hand on her shoulder, pulling her against him. The other
      hand, so much larger and rougher than hers, he laid over both of hers,
      stilling their agitated motion. She smiled faintly up at him, eyes bright
      with unshed tears. “After my father -- after he started coming to my room --
      I was only twelve -- he, he told me I was bad, that I was dirty and that I
      couldn’t touch anyone, least of all him. He always made me keep my clothes
      on while he, while he… I had to stay covered up so I wouldn’t soil him, or,
      or Claire. Claire’s only fifteen.” She blinked rapidly and Logan sucked in a
      breath. This was the first he’d heard of a younger sister. “I pray every
      night he’s not doing to her what he did to me. He probably isn’t. Claire’s
      good -- she's clean. She wouldn’t come with me when I ran away. And I couldn
      ’t tell her why… I’m the bad one, the dirty one.”

      She jerked away from him now, upset. “You probably shouldn’t touch me,
      either. Bad things happen to people who do, Logan, and I don’t want anything
      bad to happen to you.”

      “Hey,” he said softly, “none of that is true, Marie. It’s all bullshit.” He
      stopped. “Sorry.”

      She gave a watery giggle. “You don’t have to apologize every time you cuss,
      Logan. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

      He shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, *he’s* the freak, kid. He’s the one
      who’s sick, not you. Fathers don’t do that shit to their daughters. Not good
      fathers, anyway.” He rubbed her back the way she’d just done for him, and he
      could feel her relax under his hand.

      She curled up against him, pulling her legs onto the couch and putting her
      head on his shoulder. Soon she was asleep. He sighed and wondered what he
      was going to do about his growing feelings for her.


      He was mostly asleep himself when he heard it. Gunfire. He thought he was
      dreaming, that his nightmares had returned, and he tried to ignore it. Then
      there were footsteps on the stairs and muffled voices and he was too slow,
      too slow.

      There were three of them and as the two men -- Blondie and Swamp-boy, he
      noted somewhere in the back of his mind -- knocked him out with a billy
      club, the third person grabbed Marie. The girl struggled but her attacker
      was strong, and forced the chloroformed rag over her mouth. The last thing
      he saw before he passed out was Marie collapsing and the third kidnapper --
      it was Raven Darkholme -- wrapping her in a blanket.

      Then the darkness took him.


      TBC soon...

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